Laws of Normality
by Jan Lee
Summary: SERIES. Renegades. A random bunch of humorous shorts featuring characters from both the Joes and Cobra sides. Updated when convenient. Chapter Two: Sometimes T-Rat can't help what he crawls through in the forest. Rat-centric.
1. Bees

**Summary**: [SERIES]. Renegades. A series of humorous shorts featuring characters from both the Joes and Cobra sides. Various points of view. Chp. 1: What one thing can make Roadblock run for the hills?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own GI Joe: Renegades.

**Rating**: T-ish, probably bordering on M.

**A/N:** I enjoy torturing characters who take themselves too seriously. These vignettes are short snippets (500 to 1000 words) meant to be funny. Every and all Renegades characters are susceptible to my lameness. I could probably plant corn with these stories. Anyway. Enjoy.

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**~ Laws of Normality ~**

**Chapter One: Bees**

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Roadblock and Tunnel Rat lie with their binoculars to their eyes, gazing across the lake at the usual "covert" Cobra Command center. It is grey, indistinct, but with the Cobra logo emblazed across the walls on all sides in bright red and six foot high lettering. If it weren't for the egomaniac in charge, the Springfield Four would almost consider the logo a taunt at them that almost always, always backfires. Instead, they consider it the proverbial X that marks the spot. Prominent, red, six-foot high X's.

This morning, the logo confirms Roadblock's suspicions as they watch, marking each time a guard patrols and the movements of the staff. The lake that separates them from the center is peaceful, ringed by tall grasses and sonorous with water-loving birds, insects, and frogs, which also means that birds, insects and frogs constantly interrupt the human spies with various activities such as eating, pooping, and egg-laying. Add to that humidity so thick Roadblock had sweated through his jumpsuit two seconds flat as soon as he stepped out of the truck's air-conditioned haven. Add to that Tunnel Rat's seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of all plant and animal life including those eating, popping, and egg-laying birds, insects, and frogs, and Roadblock feels three inches from hell.

Misery, thou art a cruel mistress, Roadblock thinks with an appropriate amount of self-pity. He drags his wrist across his forehead, but it serves only to speed up the sweat drops running into his eye, which cause him to rub uselessly at the stinging. There'd been summers in Biloxi like this as far as humidity is concerned, so you'd think he'd be used to this, but somehow remaining face-first in smelly sludge surrounded by wildlife serves to worsen his sweating.

"This is the last time I take recon duty with you, TR," Roadblock murmurs. He swats, and misses, a mosquito that sizes up the huge blood sack pulsing with delicious food. "You pick the muddiest, most infested places for this job."

"Are we out of sight or what? Oh, hello." Rat adjusts his binoculars and Roadblock lifts his to see what his friend had seen. Rat continues, "Thirty meters, south side."

Roadblock swings the binoculars to the correct coordinates, Mistress Misery (a.k.a. Mother Nature) temporarily forgotten, but she does not forget _him_. As Mother Nature gathers her forces- -how _dare_ a mere mortal find this pristine lake muddy and infested- -a helicopter throbs into view. Dangling below its belly is a long rectangular shipment container. The helicopter lowers the container carefully onto the landing pad, unhooks the steel cables, and then banks around back out of view over the trees surrounding the compound.

Tunnel Rat lowers the binoculars in the helicopter's wake of silence. "Looks like what-"

Roadblock hears those three words before his hearing picks up a low buzzing. Under Rat's voice, he tries to place where he's heard the buzzing before. Not a mosquito…too low of a hum. Horse fly? Nope, not loud enough. The buzzing comes closer and still Roadblock tries to pinpoint what insect is making that sound, but as his memory clicks into place, the buzzing is lost in the other creaks, gurgles, and croaks of the lake.

Moments following, two sensations sear into Roadblock's brain. The creep and probe of tiny little insect legs on his bare arm and the smell of the sweet, white flowers he is positioned in, shoulder-high. Fear bubbles into his stomach, icy cold and nauseating. Mother Nature settles in to watch with grim satisfaction. She's seen Roadblock at his granny's rosebushes before, his weakness the same as many others before him, and for his ingratitude, she'll pry at that weak joint.

Back in the mortal realm, Tunnel Rat glances over after several unsuccessful seconds of waiting for Roadblock's response. What he sees burns into his memory forever. There is Roadblock, statuesque, eyes wide with terror. Rat's first thought is that Cobra got the drop on them and has zapped Roadblock with a stun gun, but there are no Cobras blundering through field and dale. Something else has happened and Rat feels the edges of panic fluttering in his stomach because the obvious answer isn't readily available, so what could it be?

"What is it? What's happened?" he asks, but Roadblock impersonates Snake Eyes. The silence, that is, not the ninja-ness. "What's wrong, man?"

Roadblock flicks his eyes to his arm. There, preening its antennae and forelegs, is a honey bee. Globes of yellow pollen have collected on its hindlegs. His panic dissipating, Rat grins in childish delight. "Aw, look at it! A bee! It must be after the pollen in these flowers."

A strangled groan escapes the large man's throat. Rat thinks he heard words behind the gritted teeth, so he leans in. "What was that?"

"Get. It. _Off_!"

Rat scrunches his brow. "The bee? It'll fly off in a second. Don't move." He wisely bites back a smirk when Roadblock's eyes cross. That is how close to his face his arm, and on it the bee, is.

No movement; not a problem, thinks Roadblock. He cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot _live _for fear of the venomous tiny stinger in the bee's ass. The bee seems content to remain on the dark brown mass. It is quite comfortable after a hard morning's labor for the Queen. In fact, it thinks, these lake-side flowers are perfect. The rest of the hive should be notified of them. After this quick rest, it'll signal everyone when it returns. The honey bee wiggles appreciatively. Boy, he might even be…what the hell? thinks the bee, as the ground suddenly shakes.

It's not the only one who thinks that as the lake echoes with a startled shrieking. The water-loving birds, insects and frogs goggle at the long, high-pitched noise. "EEEEEIIIII!"

From a distance, Scarlett and Duke glance up then at each other when they hear the little girl's scream of mortal terror. In dual consent, they draw their weapons and head for trouble, ooh-rah. Scarlett takes point, whipping through the trees, realizing this is the direction Rat and Roadblock had headed off in. Could be they're in trouble. She is about to radio in to the two, but abruptly stops when she hears movement- -she signals Duke, and they both slam behind trees for cover. They wait.

Not long after, the movement is identified as more of a crashing through underbrush. Twigs snap, branches crunch, as plants are mowed down from a large body in destructive motion. Scarlett strains her eyes and ears at the thick trees and wonders if it is a berserker bear on the loose. Or are there elephants stampeding? Perturbed, she glances upwards, hoping but disappointed. Snake Eyes' oneness with nature would've useful right about now.

"EEEEEIIIIIII!" shrieks the little girl again, but it is closer, coming toward them over the crunch-snap-crash resonating through the forest thicket.

Scarlett's brain churns. Is it some monster Cobra concocted to trick them? If it is Cobra, she thinks, they'd better be ready for a fight. She levels the plasma crossbow toward the racket; in her peripheral vision, she sees Duke mirror her movements. Synced, they rest their fingers on the triggers and wait. Then from the tree line barrels the…_Roadblock_?

Startled, Duke and Scarlett lower their weapons and step from cover, waving at Roadblock. Their mistake. Quickly, it dawns on them that he is not slowing and 400 pounds of muscle will break every bone in their combined bodies if they do not move. Scarlett dances backwards, huddling up against a tree trunk like a squirrel and watches as Duke recovers from the dive he took out of the way. They've just made it. Roadblock thunders past, hands and arms flailing around his head as he blindly stampedes onwards.

"EEEEIIII! EEEEIIII!"

Behind him is a path of broken and trampled nature, and wryly, Mother Nature concedes that the petty vengeance was fraught with danger to herself. She hadn't realized just how _much _damage could be inflicted. Scarlett and Duke, however, are perplexed at what could've panicked unflappable Roadblock, who singlehandedly clobbered a dozen Cobra flunkies, who selflessly did some other notable stuff that comes to their minds, until Rat saunters out of the Roadblock-sized hole in the foliage.

"What's up with Roadblock?" asks Duke. He looks after the hurtling figure disappearing from view. It doesn't look like the big guy will stop any time soon.

Rat shrugs, infuriatingly casual given the circumstance. "Bees," he says, tone mild. Then he continues walking toward camp.

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A/N: I'll be updating sporadically with these. I have several ideas brainstormed, but when and at what speed a type will vary. Next up: Sometimes Tunnel Rat can't help what he crawls through. Until next time. =)


	2. Poison Ivy

**A/N: **I'm back, dear readers and lurkers. More corny humor, as usual. Hope you enjoy.

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**~ Chapter Two: Poison Ivy ~**

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Skritch.

Skritch. Skritchskritch.

What in the…? A few seconds pass and Scarlett thinks she's imagined the sound when:

Skritchskritch.

Some sort of scratching noise comes from the backseat of the truck. The noise baffles Scarlett in way Cobra never has. Did they pick up a field mouse from their last stop in the woods? Or is it an insect? Ew, ohmigod. An involuntary shudder rattles through her. She can't be sure, so she perks her ears to listen more closely. If she can locate the source of the noise she can _be_ sure and order one of the grunts to take care of it, if it is a mouse. Or an insect. Not that she couldn't herself, just that…she's the commanding officer, right? Surely she shouldn't have to-

Skritchskritchskritchskritch …

There it is again!

It continues even as Scarlett twists around in her seat and finds Tunnel Rat has folded his arms over to blissfully scratch his bare forearms- -his bare forearms that look suspiciously red with rash. "Tunnel Rat! It's you!"

Rat's head snaps up. He is innocent even as his fingers convulse over his flesh. "What?" Skritchskritchskritch.

"Is that a rash?"

He hesitates, and she knows he's toying with a sarcastic remark, before he rakes his forearms again and says, "It might be, ma'am. It might be." Skritchskritchskritchskritch skritch.

"Stop scratching!"

"Lemme just…" Skritchskritchskritch. "Ah, that feels so good!"

"You have to stop scratching! You'll spread…whatever _that _is and make it worse," she tells him.

Rat casts helplessly about for support or intervention because, you know, that's what army buddies are _for_, but Duke has an amused smirk plastered on his stupid face, looking sidelong at him, and Roadblock is concentrating a little too hard on the deserted road in front of them. Rat resigns to the fact that neither of those two will help. Snake Eyes is unavailable as usual, even when his magic ninja skills are most needed. Before he can help it, he has to...skritchskritchskritch.

Scarlett's eyebrow has risen with dubiousness. "Well?" she prompts him.

Finally Rat cries, "I can't stop! It itches!"

"You're the plant and wildlife expert," she retorts. "Did you miss the course on poison ivy?"

"That's not fair." Skritchskritchskritch_._ "I was running from some Cobra goons and I tripped over a log." Skritchskritchskritch_. _"Can't help that there was an inconvenient patch of _toxicodendron radicans_ on the other side of it. I mean, come on," skritchskritchskritch, "show a little compassion for a guy preserving his friggin life!"

"Well," she answers, undeterred, "did you put some chamomile lotion on? I'm sure there's a bottle in our medicine locker last time I looked."

"No." Rat hisses through his teeth. This damn _itch_! Like a thousand fleas digging into his skin! "There was not."

Duke decides to add his two cents' worth. "I thought we had a tube of cortisone cream. It was right behind the Aleve and the Icy Hot patches."

"Oh, brilliant, Sarge. Why didn't _I_ think of that?" Rat continues to scratch through his sarcasm. He'd been through that damn medicine locker ten times looking for some type of relief. Skritchskritchskritch. "Oh, that's right. We have someone with jumbo-sized joints."

"I can't help that we grow 'em big in Biloxi." Roadblock defends himself without bothering to sound offended. He knows Rat is picking a fight. "Besides, keeping track of our medical supplies is _your _duty, T-Rat."

Rat doesn't have a retort to that. Instead, he huffs much like a sulking child and stares mulishly out of the window. Skritchskritchskritch. He doesn't see Scarlett tap her chin in a silent signal to Duke, who understands what she means and lifts a fair eyebrow at her suggestion. She shrugs: What else can they try?

"Hm," she says, "scratching at your rash will only worsen it. You need to take your mind off it until we come across a drug store. We can pick up some anti-itch stuff there."

"Hey! Maybe a spoon full of sugar will help," Roadblock interrupts. He'd noticed the exchange between Duke and Scarlett in the rearview mirror. He grins in that slow as molasses way of his that puts everybody at ease. "That always did the trick for me. And Mary Poppins is _never _wrong. Man, I loved that show as a kid."

Duke chuckles. "That's for bad tasting medicine, big guy. How about drinking water upside down?"

"That's for hiccups!" Rat is seriously going insane. Between the company and the ITCHING, he wants to slam his head into the seat in front of him until he achieves unconsciousness, or chop off his arms, which, in the long run, is probably better for his health with the added benefit of quick relief. Can he get Snakes to lend him a sword or other bladed weapon for a couple minutes? Who's he kidding? Snakes is inconveniently somewhere else. "I _do not have_ hiccups!"

"Aloe?"

Rat rolls his eyes at Scarlett's suggestion. "Sunburn."

"Oatmeal." Duke considers for a moment what he's said. "Isn't oatmeal used for treating itches?"

"Yeah, if we _had _oatmeal," skritchskritch, "but given our current supplies, I don't think we can manage that." Skritch. Skritchskritch.

"Not oatmeal. Tomato juice, definitely," Roadblock says. "Tomato juice can fix anything. It's good for you, too."

"Only if you're skunked," grumbles Rat. "These suggestions are ridiculous. Nnhgggh!" Skritchskritchskritch. "Can we please be quiet now so I can suffer in peace?"

"What about ginger ale?" Scarlett says, "Or is that for upset stomachs?"

"You know what my mama did when I had chicken pox?" Roadblock knows T-Rat will never let him live down what he plans on saying next. And Roadblock thinks he can live with that for the memories he's about to make. "She put oven mitts over my hands and duct-taped them so I couldn't scratch. Maybe we oughta try that."

Silence. Then Rat says, with every ounce in his tiny body exaggerating how much he hates that idea, "You try anything like that, and we're through here."

But the idea has taken hold. Duke and Scarlett have another nonverbal conversation, locking gazes then both turn their attention to Rat at which time Rat realizes he in some serious, deep, deeeeep, _deeeeeeeeep_, deeeeeeeeep-as-balls _shit_. Terrified, he scrambles for an argument of any sort and his panicked brain comes up with nada. Scarlett has already unbuckled her seat, making her way to the back of the truck where the supplies are located, and Rat knows she knows where the duct tape is located. He has seconds left before his doom.

"We don't have oven mitts!" he blurts. No oven mitts, no weird hand puppets. "So there." He is tempted to stick out his tongue, but decides that would provoke Scarlett into carving his tongue out of his head and That Would Not Be Good.

Duke seems undeterred, however, and begins unlacing his boots. "That's okay, Tunnel Rat." Instantly, Rat is suspicious of the friendliness. "I think I have another solution right here."

The movie that terrified Rat growing up was _Nightmare on Elm Street._ It was an older film, a classic, according to his brother, and so after little Nicky Lee watched it, he was too terrified to sleep for three days straight. There are few other things that instill the kind of fear that Freddy Kruger instilled. As Duke continues to pry off his boots, Rat has a terrible foreboding in the pit of his stomach, a dread that puts his nerves on edge, and a thread of cold sweat runs under his armpit, as he suddenly understands Duke's intent. There are worse nightmares than the ones on _Nightmare on Elm Street; _Rat thinks he's living one at this very moment.

"You are _not _putting your soggy socks anywhere _near _me," Rat says, cringing away as Duke yanks off his left, and final, sock. Rat's brain launches into overdrive to find any excuse. "I have a foot fear. My mother said I'm allergic to socks. Nine out of ten doctors agree that wearing socks on hands is the leading cause of heart attacks!"

"Don't be a baby, T-Rat," Scarlett tells him. In her hand is the duct tape and in her eye is an evil, evil glimmer. Freddy could take lessons. "Hold still. This'll be over faster if you don't struggle."

Who is he kidding? This is the woman who stuck her fingers in Roadblock's maw to grab his chewing gum. She fears nothing, not even Duke's unwashed thick cotton socks. Rat leans as far back from her as he can, wishing for ejector seats or some awesome Houdini magic like Snakes manages, and grimaces in disgust as she somehow shoves his wiggling hand into the sock with remarkable skill.

After grappling him for another second, she gets into his face and growls, "I _will_ tie you down if you don't sit still this _instant._"

He hears her tone, knows it from his mother, who used the tone to tell her boys that there will be death in the future if there wasn't silence NOW- -and frequently had to follow through- -so instinctively, he quits his struggle because, uh, _self-preservation_, and allows Scarlett to wind the duct tape around the cuff of the sock to hold it in place. A few minutes pass as Rat resigns to Scarlett's force. Freddy Kugar would be welcome to slice his throat open at this point, but Freddy Kugar hates him worse than Fate does, and Scarlett is scarier than both those combined, leaving him alive for the moment, writhing in embarrassment and itchiness. Mostly itchiness, though.

When Scarlett is through, she flicks her ponytail over her shoulder with a satisfactory smile and settles into her seat as Rat holds up in abject horror his new sock-hands with fashionable duct tape tops. Whaaaat is thiiiis? Duke must be related to Big Foot because these socks must be for feet that huge, an abomination of all regular-sized feet everywhere. A footy funk whiffs into Rat's delicate nostrils; death cannot come quick enough.

Behind the wheel, Roadblock's bass humming swells. His fingers tap with a beat and Rat hears some mumbled words. "…medicine go _dooown._ Medicine go _doooown…_"

To Rat's ever increasing horror (really, Cobra Commander would be jealous and enraged that he can't induce the same kind of pants-pissing fear), Duke takes up the chorus with Roadblock, a re-booted, un-socked foot jiggling in time, and when Rat goggles at Scarlett- -please, boss-lady, please _for the love of God _stop the insanity!- -she smiles and joins in lustily. Ugh, scratch that- -shit, he _can't _scratch that because, der, of the friggin socks on his hands, someone kill...him...now. By the time Rat has planted his face in his newly acquired glove-wear, winced away from the footy funk, and gasped for air, Scarlett has joined in with Roadblock and Duke, sounding almost like Julie Andrews in her prime.

Rat finally understands that he is in hell.

"…a spoon full of su_gaaar_ makes the medicine go _dooooown…_"

Scarlett pauses from her cheerful singing to hold up her handheld doodad. "Smile for the camera, Tunnel Rat." Before he can think to hide, she clicks a button and a flash goes off.

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**A/N: **LOLing at T-Rat. I told you. Corny. On any account, if you have suggestions, I'm open to them. I think the next one might be on the Cobra side of things. Stay tuned.


End file.
